


Disquiet Promises

by MsAnimeManga4ever



Series: Sherlocked [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsAnimeManga4ever/pseuds/MsAnimeManga4ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wakes up to find John isn't home</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can't Help Worrying

                “Well, good night Sherlock.” John’s flat mate didn’t even spare him a glance.

“Good night.” John went to go upstairs but paused.

“You should really get some sleep tonight. It’s been a week now.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.” John sighed.

“I just can’t help it.” At that Sherlock looked up from his work, but his friend had already gone.

                In the morning John walked into the kitchen to get some breakfast before work. When he walked in he found Sherlock’s head on his arms, sound asleep at the table.

“I told him he needed sleep.” John chuckled to himself. He put a blanket over his friend before he continued to get ready for work.

                Sherlock woke up and was momentarily confused. Then he got mad at himself for falling asleep when he was in the middle of experimenting for a case. Sherlock smiled when he noticed the blanket. It was obviously John that had put it on him. Looking at the clock in the kitchen Sherlock blanched. He had been asleep all day.

“Wait, shouldn’t John be back by now?” Puzzled, Sherlock looked around the flat. John wasn’t there. “Maybe he went out to buy groceries.” But when Sherlock looked in the fridge they had plenty of food. “Where the hell is he?”

Hey, why aren’t you home?

-SH

After sending John a text, Sherlock went back to his experiment.

Thirty minutes passed and he didn’t get an answer. Sherlock tried calling John but got his voicemail.

“Maybe he’s with Lestrade.” Sherlock dialed the officer.

 

Greg was sitting at his desk at Scotland Yard, going through boring paperwork. The sound of his phone going off gave him sheer delight at the thought of having an excuse to stop. The delight faded once he saw who was calling. Sighing Lestrade answered Sherlock’s call.

What do you want Sherlock?

_Is John with you?_

No, why?

_Damn!_

Is something wrong?

_I’ve got to go._

Wait, what’s going on? Is everything alright? Sherlock!

Greg was met with a dial tone.

“He’s worried. Shit.”

 

                Sherlock couldn’t deny it, he was worried. Lestrade had no idea what was going on and Mrs. Hudson hadn’t seen him since this morning. There was only one person left to go to. In all honesty Sherlock would rather die than stoop down to such a low level and ask the man. But this was John. After three rings there was an answer.

_You must really be in a bind if you are contacting me brother dear._

Cut the shit Mycroft.

_Someone is in a foul mood._

Are you with John?

_I talked with him yesterday._

Did you get him to do something that would get him into trouble?

_Is he in trouble?_

Mycroft.

There was silence over the phone.

_I’ll help you look for him. Greg and I should be able to come up with something._

Since when are you on terms with Lestrade?

_That is none of your business little brother. Now run along and check with John’s coworkers._

Sherlock scoffed at the phone before putting on his scarf and grabbing his coat. He raced down the stairs, shrugging into it.

 

                John’s coworkers were useless in gaining information. All that they could give was that he didn’t act strange at all, and that he left at his usual time. Sherlock was walking the rout John would take if he walked back to the flat from work. He was just about ready to throw something. His aggravation flared, so the detective took a sudden turn down into an alley to find something he could mangle in frustration. Just as he was about to throw the lid to a trashcan, his phone rang. It was Mycroft.

_We found him. He’s battered but ok._

What happened? Where is he?

_Greg is sending you directions. And do hurry Sherlock; the poor bloke was pulled right off the street by a big man who seemed to take a lot of pleasure in beating the shit out of him._

Who was it?

_Not sure. Could’ve been a criminal trying to get to you, or it could have just been a random thug. The latter seems to make the most sense though._

Sherlock had heard all that he needed to hear; he hung up without another word spoken. His phone went off as soon as he pushed the end button, indicating he had a message. It was the directions from Lestrade-leading him to an alleyway that was annoyingly very near to Bakers street.  He immediately ran out of the alley to hail a cab.

 

                John groaned as he came to. His entire body hurt like hell.

“I swear, the next time I see that man I’m giving him what for.” The doctor seethed. He moved his arm to prop himself up and hissed in pain. It was almost as if he had been shot again. Not being able to do anything else, John stayed on his side and just focused on breathing easily to fight through the pain.

John lay in the alley, not sure how much time was passing as he drifted in and out of consciousness. After what seemed like hours-and probably was, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly. At the sight of a very similar coat, Johns sighed in relief and looked up at Sherlock.

“How did you find me?”

“I’ll explain later, come one.” Sherlock leaned down to help John up, but he could barely stand. With a sigh Sherlock swept his best friend into his arms and headed for the flat.

 


	2. A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John explains what happened and why

            “John! What happened?” Sherlock swept right past Mrs. Hudson and continued up the stairs.

“No need to worry Mrs. Hudson. John was just conveniently near the thug that decided he was bored.” Sherlock was talking over his shoulder, sending their landlady a reassuring smile.

“He looks awful!”

“Just bruised.”

“Sherlock that was not a coincidence,” John whispered. The detective’s head whipped back around and he looked at John.

“Explain when Mrs. Hudson is gone,” he whispered back tightly.

            Sherlock carried his boyfriend up to his room and stepped aside to let Mrs. Hudson fuss over John. When she left, Sherlock immediately went over to John and sat on his bed, demanding answers.

“Why did he come after you? What did he want from me?”

“Why do you assume he was trying to get to you?”

“Consulting Detective? I send people to jail?”

“He was strictly after me.” Sherlock was taken aback.

“Why? Who was he?” John sighed and rubbed his face.

“He’s from the war; the opposing side obviously. We were patrolling when our front car drove over a bomb. All hell broke loose as I dashed to the car to help the soldiers that were in it. When I got there I found that none of them had survived.” John paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “They were firing at us from the direction we had come from. None of them noticed the single soldier sneaking up from the way we were going. It was obvious that they thought that they would only need one guy, but they didn’t think about the patrol having someone like me. The man moving down the road noticed I was at the wreckage and charged, running at me with a knife. On instinct I grabbed one of the fallen soldier’s guns and shot him. He fell dead after one bullet.” John’s mind was racing. He could hear the shots; see the scene play out as if he was still there. He gripped the sheets and closed his eyes in an attempt to pull himself together, but he had never been able to fight off the fear and anxiety that came with his war memories. Seeing his boyfriend’s distress, Sherlock laid down next to him, enveloping him in his arms. After a couple minutes John continued. “The man that attacked me said he was the soldier’s brother. He said that he was angry, and frustrated. He said that even though he wanted to kill me he wasn’t going to, because he wasn’t smart enough to hide from the police. So he opted for the next best thing and beat the shit out of me. When I woke up I said I would beat the guy in turn if I ever saw him again, but that’s not true. It was just the anger at being beat up talking. The man did it for closure. I hope he found it.”

“John.”

            He looked up and Sherlock kissed him softly. It was slow and rhythmic, unlike the kisses they usually shared-which were fast and heated. This kiss was more for comfort than pleasure. It spoke a silent promise; a promise of togetherness, of love and support. And it was this kiss that made John certain that with Sherlock by his side, one day he would be rid of his PTSD. 


End file.
